


Then the Rain Came

by Potato_LongSocks



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, References to Depression, just a father-daughter moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:55:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28574847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potato_LongSocks/pseuds/Potato_LongSocks
Summary: “When I was your age, my brothers loved writing things on the windows.” Her father traces his fingers along the window. “Silly things.” She wonders what these silly things were. They couldn’t have been sillier than what Daeron plans on doing. He wants to go to Dorne! Even Daena knows that that is quite impossible.“You have to breathe on it, otherwise it won’t write,” Daena says, pulling herself onto the window seat which puts her right next to her father.
Relationships: Aegon III Targaryen & Daena Targaryen
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Then the Rain Came

Drip, drop.

The rain makes Daeron fuss. It forces him to stay indoors, which he dislikes. Daena’s eldest brother is three and ten, and very headstrong. He’d much prefer to spend his time in the courtyard, working on his swordsmanship with cousin Aemon. Daena sticks around to hear him out on some days, on others he’s too much for her to bear and she goes to Baelor.

Drip, drip, drop.

Those days are even duller. One must not eat or drink or even speak too loudly in the library. Once she asked Baelor about how he felt about rain. Her brother frowned and scolded her for being wicked. Their wants did not matter, claimed Baelor. According to him, rain is “cleansing”. For water is pure, and all men full of sins. That statement alone unsettled Daena deeply. How can everyone be sinful? “I have done nothing wrong,” She insisted. Baelor’s lips always twitched when she says something wrong. 

Nevertheless Daena loves the rain. One day out of dozens, she’d go up to her father’s solar and find the door unlocked. He would be sitting by the window, watching. Every time she’d ask what. What is it in the rain that interests him as much as books interest Baelor and swords Daeron? Maybe he also imagines that the rain has a rhythm. Drip, drop. Drip, drip, drop. 

“Why does it rain?” She asked, once.

Her father answered honestly, “I don’t know. Perhaps you ought to consult the maesters, or your Uncle Viserys? He knows much more than I do.”

Daena likes her Uncle Viserys well enough, but she thinks her father shouldn’t be trying to push her away all the time. He’s not bad company at all. For one, he doesn’t treat her like she’s too small (Daeron does that often, she can’t wait till she’s old enough to beat him at cyvasse), or stupid (Baelor is stupid), or adorable (her mother’s ladies always coo at her, it seems to be the only thing they are competent at). Besides, her father always answers her questions to the best of his abilities. Even though it was Uncle Viserys who told her that “no questions are stupid” and she is always welcome to ask them, he is often too busy. Her father also doesn’t over simplify things, as if she’s too stupid to understand. Mother does that sometimes, because she spends so much time with her baby sisters that she mistakes Daena for one of them. They all look alike, after all. 

“Why do you wear only black, Father?” Today she asks. “Our colors are black and red.” In truth, she thinks that black is a dreadful color on its own. It’s also not her father’s color. He’s pale, much paler than her mother and black accentuates his paleness, making him look more washed out. 

He’s silent for a while. Her father is often silent, but he never lets her wait for long. 

Drip, drop.

“Black is the mourning color,” He says softly.

Oh. Daena looks down. Baelor would be scolding her right now for being not only wicked but also inconsiderate and ignorant. She has an idea of who he might be mourning even though no one ever answers her questions about the Dance. Mother says she’s a little too young for it, Daeron grimaces, and Baelor just shakes his head. Her grandparents, perhaps? Some children around the castle have them. Cousins Aegon, Aemon and Naerys have a pair in Volantis, but they say little about them, just as they say very little about their mother. Or maybe the brothers he’d lost? She always listens very carefully when Aunts Rhaena and Baela come to visit. She knows her aunts were promised to them. 

She shuffles her feet. “I’m sorry.” She truly means it, but does her father understand? She looks up and sees him looking slightly puzzled.

“What for?” He asks.

She bites down on her lips, “For making you sad again. I just thought - I thought that black is such a sad color. Maybe something brighter would make you happier.” And then she blurts out, “Wouldn’t they want you to be happy?” 

Wicked words, Baelor would scold her. Drip, drip, drop. All men are sinful. “I want you to be happy,” She says, a little louder and bolder. 

“It’s difficult,” Her father confesses. “Some days are more difficult than others. I can still remember them as if it was all yesterday.”

Daena listens. They must’ve lived ten or twenty years ago, but again, adults seem to have a strange sense of time. Years pass like seconds for them. Daena finds that both frightening and fascinating. 

“When I was your age, my brothers loved writing things on the windows.” Her father traces his fingers along the window. “Silly things.” She wonders what these silly things were. They couldn’t have been sillier than what Daeron plans on doing. He wants to go to Dorne! Even Daena knows that that is quite impossible. 

“You have to breathe on it, otherwise it won’t write,” Daena says, pulling herself onto the window seat which puts her right next to her father. 

He pauses. “I forget,” The slightest of quirks tugs at his lips. 

Daena plants her face right before the window but hesitates. “What were their names? Your brothers, I mean.”

Her father traces. Jae… Jaecaerys. The first one reads. Then Lucerys and Joffrey follow. So there were three, she thought. 

She adds two names beneath them, Aegon and Viserys. “You should not forget Uncle Viserys.”

They continue to add more names as the ones before fade. Aunts Baela and Rhaena. Daeron, Baelor. Daena, her own. Along with her sister Rhaena and Elaena. Then her cousins. Aemon, Naerys, Cousin Aegon. 

They sit there in a comfortable silence, watching the names fade out one by one.


End file.
